


Sweet Nothing

by jvo_taiski



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: But it's Mild, Fluff, M/M, Mostly Wholesome, Nobody Dies, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smut, because of soda, but it's sweet fr, dallas is uncharacteristically soft, it's cute i promise., tbh idk, theres sex, watch out though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvo_taiski/pseuds/jvo_taiski
Summary: Not quite friends but definitely not lovers.snapshots of a relationship between Dally and Soda because there's not enough of this pairing and i was bored
Relationships: Sodapop Curtis/Dallas Winston
Kudos: 48





	1. Muse

**Author's Note:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

\----

_She’s my baby  
Ain’t that something_

_\----_

In many ways, Sodapop was always his muse. He was his something else—the one he’d inevitably end up drawn to when he smiled and the one he couldn’t help staring at when nobody was watching.

It’s not conscious. Most of the time, anyway. But when it is, when Dally’s staring at him from over a cold can of beer, or watching him try and hide an ace in his socks, he tries to take in every little detail—sharp. Attentive.

And sometimes, it’s purely lazy, and he stares just because Soda’s really pretty and Dally can’t put a finger on exactly why. Handsome, sure, but it’s not the right word—he’s not got his older brother’s rugged look or Ponyboy’s well-practised slouch. Hell, he’s just really fucking pretty and it drives Dally up the fucking wall.

Masculine, yes. He’s got a jaw sharp enough to cut ice and he’s all toned lean lines. But there’s something about the soft way he smiles that isn’t right. His lip always does this thing where the right side curls upwards first and the left side always quirks up to follow it. Dally’s not ashamed to admit to himself that maybe he would really be alright with taking that bottom lip in his teeth and making it bruise red.

And the worst part is, if that was all there was to it, it would have been fine. Easily ignorable. But Dally also notices the underlying fondness when he ruffles Johnny’s hair and ribs Steve, the tender way he hugs Ponyboy, the laugh that comes easy no matter how many times Dally scowls at him and tells him to quiet down, punk. If he wasn’t Dallas Winston, he might have said that he was falling just a bit in love.

And of course, he can’t help whatever’s left of his heart clenching painfully when Sandy’s name come up—Soda melts whenever her name slips past his stupidly pretty lips.

Dally hates Sandy.

Maybe it’s some stupid, small part of him wanting something that can never be his, but he knows he doesn’t deserve Soda—but she definitely doesn’t, either. Nobody deserves Soda, not really.

Sometimes, Dally thinks Soda’s laugh can bring the gods down from where they’re hiding, just so they can catch a glimpse, because however gentle he is, however he cradles the moments the world’s given him, in the end, the world hates him just like it hates every kid who’s not on the South side. And in the end, Soda’s all rough edges as well.

The way he feels things is different, and it fascinates Dally, who’s long-since forgotten such things exist. Pain is rougher, to Soda, just like his joy is louder. And all through it, he smiles.

Dally’s heart hurts, and he’s left with a Muse with no canvas, that he wishes he could paint in his mind forever.

\----

_But I know that she belongs to you_

\----

Soda knows what they say, what they all say. _That kid’s trouble._

And fuck, they’re sure as hell right. Dallas Winston is everything they call him and more, and he owns it—he’s proud of it. He’s cold, calculating, turned mean a long time ago. Soulless, even. 

And he is. But Soda can’t help noticing the little things.

Like the way he laughs when Johnny kid comes up with something funny or the life in his eyes when he’s up on a horse. Or the roguish smile he sometimes throws Soda that sends his heart spinning, because for once, Dally looks like a teenage boy and not a hood. It makes Soda blush. He doesn’t know why.

Or even when he relaxes enough to let the tenseness out of his scowl and that cold, hard mask slips up for just a second and he smiles at something stupid when he thinks nobody’s watching.

They all forget he’s just a kid, too.

And Soda wishes—

He wishes he could help him remember it.

\----

_I'm feelin' sorry  
I called you but I guess I forgot your name_

_\----_


	2. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

\----

_But she's just like lightning  
she goes right through you.  
Then you know you'll never  
be the same_

\----

Skin on skin. Dally’s hot everywhere Soda touches him and his fingers burn as he leaves a trail down his chest and dips below his waistband. Dally lets out a low moan when Soda finally grips his dick through his boxers and fuck, it’s music to Soda’s ears.

He’s panting harshly into Soda’s ear and his arms are looped around his shoulders, trapping him there. He can’t remember how they ended up in that position but it’s as if Soda has any intention of going anywhere—but then he pulls himself free from Dally’s embrace anyway.

The resulting snarl on Dally’s face is quickly replaced by one of desire when Soda strips down to nothing. He feels like he’s being eaten alive by the intensity of his gaze but he doesn’t flinch—instead, he steps forwards and pulls Dally’s pants off as well. There’s no messing around beforehand, no stopping to admire the other’s skin—no. They’re kissing and touching roughly, quickly, with a sort of desperation. It’s hungry and blind and hot as hell and they both know that their first time together could very well be their last.

Because Soda and Dally? Even they don’t know what to make of their relationship. Not quite friends but definitely not lovers. More than acquaintances—but then again, they know more about each other then would be considered normal. And again, definitely not lovers. If they break away even to stop and think for a second, they’ll realise how fundamentally wrong what they’re doing is and neither of them wants to risk that.

So for now, there’s no thinking. It’s just hot skin on skin and rough caresses. Dally’s breath is coming harsh and ragged in Soda’s ear and he’s clutching his shoulders so hard that his nails draw tiny crescent moons in blood. Soda likes it. It makes him feel grounded and complements the occasional breathy moan that escapes Dally’s lips. Lordy, everything about Dally is driving him up the wall right now.

Soda stifles his groan into Dally’s shoulder and backs him into a wall, forcing his way between his legs, revelling in the hot slide of bare skin on skin. He latches his lips onto the side of the taller boy’s pale throat and sucks, feeling a swell of animalistic pride as red begins to form—he’s not careful. And he doesn’t need to be. Every scrape of his teeth on Dally’s neck is drawing more of those noises out of Dally’s throat. He never knew Dallas Winston could make noises like that but he isn’t about to let go of the discovery now.

He reaches down and runs his hand over their cocks, barely supressing another groan. Dallas is past gone, he doesn’t even try—instead, he arches his back and moans like a broad.

“C’mon now doll,” mutters Soda, his voice uncharacteristically raw, so unlike the smooth, cheeky tone he usually adopts. “Darry might sleep like a log but that’s loud enough to hear down the street.”

Dally glares at him for the cheek but apparently his desire overtakes his mean side and he just pulls Soda in for another messy kiss. Soda decides he likes him like this—calling Dally ‘doll’ would normally be enough to earn a sock in the face. But Soda’s got him under his thumb now and the realisation is dizzying.

In his lust-addled haze, he manages to reach between them and grab their cocks again and jerk them off at a pace so rough it almost hurts, but the pre-come that leaks out helps it a lot. Dally’s shaking now, and falling apart underneath Soda’s touch. And fuck, he’s _hot._ Burning up. They’re both covered in sweat.

Soda’s movements take on a tone of urgency—he’s spiralling towards orgasm. And it seems like Dally is too because he grips Soda tighter than ever and lets out something between a strangled sob of frustration and a moan that’s entirely too loud.

Soda stops immediately. “Keep it _down_. C’mon, doll, do I really need to gag you?” he hisses in his ear.

Again, a glare from Dally that looks dangerous even with his hair messed up, his face flushed and his eyes dark with desire. And again, Dally doesn’t sock him. Instead, he spins them around, knocking the wind out of Soda, and gets on his knees before he can even process what’s going on.

“This a good enough gag for you?”

It’s Soda’s turn to clap a desperate hand to his own mouth when he feels Dally’s lips on his cock. He’s so on edge it takes everything he’s got not to come on the spot—sure, he’s screwed around plenty of times and has had too many broads on his dick to count but this is different. It’s harsher, rougher, more raw. And definitely not allowed. It sends sparks singing through his veins and pushes all room for thought out of his head as Dally takes more of him down and reaches to jerk off what he can’t fit.

If he didn’t have time to look before, Soda’s got the perfect view now. Dally looks almost beautiful with his lips stretched around Soda’s dick and his hair wrapped tightly in Soda’s fingers. But he looks depraved as well, kneeling with his legs spread and back arched and his eyes hooded when he glances up at Soda. It’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen and Soda has to shut his eyes and grit his teeth not to make a noise. If Darry hears, they’ll be as good as dead.

But the pressure in his gut is building and Soda gasps Dally’s name and tries tugging Dally’s mouth away from his cock.

“Dally—fuck—I’m gonna—” is all he manages to choke out before he’s coming violently. His hips buck against his will but Dally doesn’t pull away—he actually moans around his dick as he swallows. Soda clamps his lips together, trying and failing to hold back the noises threatening to spill from his throat, and his eyes roll back in his head as he slumps back against the wall. He’s shaking as he comes down from his high but he drags Dally to his feet anyway, fumbling to return the favour.

To his shock, his fingers only meet sticky wetness on Dally’s stomach. Soda lets out a low groan. “You got off on that, doll?” Fuck, if he hadn’t just come he’d be hard already. Dally’s skin is pressed flushed against his, hot and sticky and sweaty, as they both struggle to control their breathing. But Pony’s home from school soon and they both know they can’t go again.

“Not. A. Word,” growls Dally, his look deadly even though he’s red with embarrassment and his voice hoarse and well fucked.

“’Course not, Dals,” replies Soda, carding his hand through Dally’s hair, which is already sticking up at all angles. He’s a bit hurt that Dally would think he’d tell anyone, but in all fairness, what they’ve done is definitely not okay. Still, Soda doesn’t feel gross or anything and from the way Dally’s leaning his forehead against Soda’s, he isn’t disgusted either.

On a whim, Soda leans forwards and closes the gap between them. He lets his lips linger on Dally’s for a second longer before pulling away. Dallas looks up to meet his eyes, then. He’s got a soft smile on, and it’s almost childish in the way he blushes fiddles with their entwined fingers. It’s enough to make Soda’s heart soar.

He can’t help the bubble of laughter that surfaces when he softly pecks his lips again and Dally turns around, muttering something about going all soft. He’s still pink around the ears and Soda can’t take the ridiculous grin off his face.

They’re fully dressed and innocently bickering over a deck of cards when Ponyboy gets home. If he notices the blooming marks on Dally’s neck or the way his gaze lingers on Soda, or the way Soda can’t seem to keep the smile off his face, he doesn’t say anything. 


	3. Sodomy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

\----

_But baby's feelin' bad today  
She said she's thinkin of goin' away_

_\----_

“You know it’s illegal up the bum,” cackles Steve, as Two-Bit recounts a raunchy story about some broad he met the other week.

“Ain’t nobody care about all of the other laws, why would this one be any different?” Two-Bit retorts back. “Besides, the hole up front was a bit too well-used, if y’all know what I mean.”

Another round of crude laughter. Darry purses his lips in disapproval, his gaze sliding towards Ponyboy, who’s definitely too young to be hearing that kind of shit but listening wide-eyed anyway.

“How old d’ya say this chick was again?” wheezes Steve, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

“Forty-two.”

“Oh lawd.”

Even Darry joins in the laughter this time. It lasts longer, and while Soda joins it, it’s strained. He knows exactly what law they’re talking about.

Johnny pipes up, almost as if reading Soda’s mind. “Man, I never knew bum sex was banned with girls. I thought it was just to stop the queers and the animal fuckers.”

“Aw well, either way Two-Bit’s broken the law,” grins Steve, slyly.

“He fools around with guys?” Johnny’s eyes widen in shock and Steve and Two-Bit burst into laughter again.

“Aw hell naw,” Steve wheezes, as soon as he’s recovered. “They say any hole’s a goal but he don’t stoop that low. Nah, all Two-Bit’s broads are bitches and if that ain’t bestiality—”

Two-Bit good-naturedly tackles Steve and the two of them go crashing over the table while Ponyboy looks at them wide-eyed in horror. The kid’s probably never heard of anal sex before, let alone bestiality. And he’s probably only heard of queers in passing, or as an insult.

Soda suddenly feels sick.

He’s a queer. He’s stooped that low. Sure, he digs broads like any other normal guy, but there’s definitely something else—a primal attraction towards men. He gulps and glances nervously at Dally, who’s resolutely not meeting his eyes.

“You okay, Soda? You don’t look so good.”

Soda nearly jumps out of his skin when Darry puts his hand on his forehead.

“Yeah,” he says, too quickly. “I’m just… headache. Probably didn’t drink enough today.”

Even Steve’s stopped laughing. “Yeah man, you look kinda pale.”

“I’ll take a couple aspirins and lie down a few hours, I’ll be fine.”

Soda doesn’t notice the way Dally’s eyes track him to the door. He does notice the crumpled-up note in his pocket the next day, though.

_I break that Sodomy Law very thoroughly and damn well._

His lips quirk up when he recognises the scrawl of Dallas’ handwriting but when Steve asks what the joke is, Soda just shoves the note into his pocket and shrugs it off.

_\----_

_Yesterday she walked home all alone._

_\----_


	4. Make Me Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

\----

_Oh baby I'm cryin'_   
_And my body's flyin'_   
_But I remember you_

\----

Dally’s not so cold after all. Or as rough and hard as he wants everyone to think.

Soda watches him carefully stacking the 10th card on his tower and watches the way he bites his lip in concentration and furrows his brow and grins unrestrained when it doesn’t fall over and thinks that he’s kind of _soft_.

He’s got a real soft smile, sometimes. It’s rare, and sometimes, Soda thinks it might be reserved just for him.

\----

The next time is softer. There’s no rush. Dally’s house is empty for the day—his old man’s in the cooler for a couple days.

Dally won’t lie to himself. He’s nervous. He’s never let anyone into his house before, except Tim Shepard when he was hiding from the cops. And he’s definitely never let anyone into his bedroom.

He fidgets nervously, jaw clenched and foot scuffing the carpet as Soda surveys his childhood bedroom and suddenly feels very self-conscious. His house is a tip compared to Soda’s—his dad’s trash is everywhere. And his bedroom… well, Dally doesn’t spend a lot of time in his bedroom. It’s still baby-blue and his bed is tiny and there’s even a couple faded crayon drawings on the wall. Dally doesn’t know why he never took them down before.

But now Soda’s stepped forwards with his half-smile and is running his fingers along the little stick people in Dally’s drawings and the grass and the big yellow sun in the corner. A bubble of surprised laughter spills from his lips.

Dally scowls and blushes. Nobody except Soda can make him blush and he can’t decide whether he hates it or loves it. “Not. A. Word. Say anything, and you’re dead to me Curtis.”

“It’s cute.”

“No it ain’t, it’s embarrassing.”

“Aw, Dallas Winston, ashamed he used to have a heart?”

“Fuck you, punk,” says Dally, jumping Soda and wrestling him to the floor. There’s a small struggle, when Soda nails him in the eye with his elbow, but eventually Dally manages to pin him down. They lie there a few seconds, panting heavily. Soda’s eyes are sparkling from where he’s lying underneath him, his greased hair messed up and colour high on his cheeks. In his short life, Dally doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful and wonders why the world thinks what they’re doing would be wrong. But Dally is Dally after all, and he doesn’t care none for the world. He cares about himself, and right now, he cares about making the boy underneath him smile.

He leans in and closes the gap between them, feeling soft lips on his own. Soda sighs underneath him and Dally doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so light. Their movements are slower now; they have all the time in the world. It’s just them, and the early afternoon light that softens everything and makes the layers of dust dance in the air.

Dally doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at peace than with Soda moving his jaw against his own. There’s a scratch of stubble there and the thought should disgust him but it only excites him. Forbidden things always excite him. Besides, he can’t do much more thinking, not when Soda rolls them over and slides his tongue into Dally’s mouth. It’s not forceful, there’s no tonsil tennis. It’s gentle and curious and so very soft.

Any tenseness lingering in Dally disappears and he doesn’t care that the world made him cruel and mean anymore. Instead, he allows himself to become pliant under Soda’s inquisitive little touches. He’s never had a moment like this before. There’s no way he’d let a broad touch him like that and with Dallas Winston, normally everything is rough anyway.

Soda stops for just a second to pull off his shirt and Dallas stops breathing. He pauses there, straddling Dally’s lap and Dally just looks. Looks and looks and looks, drinking every inch of Soda in. He’s every kind of beautiful, through and through. Sure, he’s movie-star handsome with his dark blonde hair, tanned gold skin and blinding smile. But Dally can’t take his eyes away from in the intensity of his stare, and simultaneous tenderness in the way he looks at him. It’s dizzying—nobody’s ever looked at Dally like that. It sends sparks flying through his blood and makes his heart flutter as it struggles to escape his ribcage.

Dally drags his gaze down the lean lines of Soda’s body and the V-shape that dips downward. He wishes Soda’s pants were off as well, but they have time, after all. That comes later.

Or maybe not. Soda chooses the moment to grind down on his crotch, hard, and a very not-tough gasp leaves Dally’s throat. Fuck, if he wasn’t hard before he definitely is now and he’s blushing, he knows he is. And fuck Soda, because he’s got that teasing smirk on, the crooked half-smile, and it’s absolutely driving Dally insane.

He’s quick to sit up and discard his own shirt, and things start heating up properly after that. Soda’s hands are everywhere, running all over his cheekbones, tangled in his hair, dancing across his collarbones and down his sides. He can’t tell whether he’s melting under his touch or arching up to meet him anymore. Maybe both.

Soda’s kissing down his neck now. Dally sighs as Soda leaves open-mouthed kisses scattered down his chest, tongue flicking out to circle his nipple. His heart starts beating impossibly faster when Soda’s hands ghost over the front of his pants and his lips creep down his stomach. It’s tantalising and incredibly hot and Dally’s back arches off the ground when Soda pulls his zipper down and mouths him through his boxers.

Before long, they’re naked and tangled in Dally’s tiny bed.

“Soda—” Dally moans, pulling Soda’s mouth away from his dick. They can be as loud as they want now—there’s nobody in the house to hear them.

“Yes doll?” the pet name slips from Soda’s lips like honey and it makes Dally shiver slightly. He’s surprised to find he likes it. A lot.

“You’d better lay off or I’m gonna come way too quickly.”

“If we’ve got all the time in the world, who says we can’t have a round two?”

And then Soda’s back on his dick and Dally doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna handle it. So, he lets his eyes roll back in his head and tries as hard as he can not to buck up into Soda’s mouth. Sure, Soda’s arm is firmly pinning his hips down, but Dally knows from experience that even the slightest of unexpected movements can trigger a gag reflex.

He pulls Soda’s head away from his dick a second time, this time reaching down to pull Soda up so they’re kissing again. He doesn’t even care that Soda’s just had his dick in his mouth—he can only focus on the way Soda’s grinding down against him, their dicks slick with Soda’s spit and both of their pre-come. Soda reaches down to grab his ass and Dally moans again, thrusting upwards to meet Soda.

“ _Fuck,_ doll,” groans Soda, lifting his head to look down at Dally with half-lidded eyes. “Can I—I mean, I—”

He’s getting progressively redder.

“Spit it out Sodapop.”

“I really want to—I just mean that—could I maybe fuck you?” he finishes, blushing profusely, like he was scared to ask that. Dally thinks it’s adorable. The open earnestness in the way he’s looking at him makes him squirm. It’s not often people look at him like that.

“Sure thing Soda. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he sits up in shock and Dally has to laugh.

“Do I really need to repeat myself, dumbass? I cleaned everything up for you, just in case.”

“For me?”

Dally rolls his eyes fondly. “Nah, for Tim fucking Shepherd. Yes, for you. Gee, you always told me you were dumb but I’m really beginning to see it now,” he teases while Soda scowls. Dally likes it when Soda scowls.

But he also wants to get to it; he’s uncomfortably hard and it’s not going away any time soon, not when Soda’s lying naked on top of him. He props himself up on his elbows. “You got a rubber, Soda? And lube?”

Soda blushes even deeper. “I’m gonna be honest with ya, Dals. I never thought I’d get this far.”

With an exasperated laugh, Dally falls back down on the mattress. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I dunno man, I just never thought Dallas Winston would be the kind of guy to take it up the ass.”

“Shut your trap Sodapop, ain’t nobody going anywhere near my ass if you keep mouthing off like that.”

“Alright, alright,” he waves Dally off, grinning like a maniac. His eyes are lit up like Christmas lights and Dally has to allow himself a grudging smile when Soda leans in to kiss him again, soft and gentle.

It’s beautiful and silly and they laugh their way through it, even when it burns and when Dally’s too overcome by sensation to speak. When Soda finally finishes inside him with a groan, he pulls out, tosses the rubber and wordlessly collapses into bed on top of Dally. He doesn’t even complain about how heavy and sweaty Soda is. They just stay like that, tired and content and tangled together.

As the afternoon bleeds into the pink hues of evening and Soda’s fingers, from where they’re lightly tracing the veins on Dally’s arms, still and his breathing evens out. And Dally just looks at the boy asleep on top of him, so beautiful and so full of life. Sure, Dally can’t remember having anyone to rely on but right now, he can’t think of what he’d do if Soda left his life.

There’s something fragile and beautiful blooming in his chest and he doesn’t know what it is yet. But right now, he’s content just watching, unwilling to disturb the delicate bubble they’re in and face the world again.


	5. Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby_

\----

_Now everybody looks  
All around the corner  
Just to see your baby  
Walkin' home_

\----

“So I said, watch out man, or I’ll think you’re one of them dirty queers! Fucker had the audacity to try and sock me but really, I think the fag just wanted a piece of this,” Steve says, posing ridiculously, and Two-Bit bursts into rancorous laugher, slapping his hand on the table.

“You know the only time being a queer is acceptable?” grins Two-Bit, once he’s recovered.

“When you’re trapped on an island with only guys?” suggests Johnny, looking dubious. “Like that book, what’s it called, the Lord of the Flies?”

“Nah,” Two-Bit cracks that ridiculous smirk again. “If a broad’s old man comes home before you can flake out. Otherwise, the fuck is wrong with a guy?”

Soda frowns, scratches at the surface of the table. “C’mon man, what have queers ever done to you? Stop raggin’ on them.”

“Golly Soda,” Two-Bit lowers his beer and quirks an eyebrow. “Carry on like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’re one of them or something.”

It’s good-natured, but Soda gulps anyway, looks away. “And what if I was?”

There’s a drop-dead silence.

Then, a clatter when Darry drops the wooden spoon he’s holding. Ponyboy and Johnny look up from their card game real quick, like they’ve been shocked, and Two-Bit’s jaw just about hits the floor. Steve looks like he’s seen a ghost.

But Soda, heart in his throat, seeks out Dally’s eyes and sees a smirk there, a strong flare of pride, something that tells him that whatever happens, Dally won’t turn his back, will make it his business to beat the shit out of anyone who tries to fuck with Soda. He would have smiled back if he wasn’t scared shitless.

There aren’t a lot of things that Soda’s not brave enough to do, whether it’s getting into a brawl or jumping over a moving car, but nothing’s ever scared him more than this. He’s staring at them all defiantly but the silence is tense and Soda nearly closes his eyes because hell, nothing’s ever terrified him more than losing the people he loves. He’s about to burst into fake laughter and cover it all up as a prank, but then Dally’s voice breaks through the drumming in his head.

“Well fuck it, as if it’s any of my business who you take to bed,” he drawls, with a shrug and that same knowing smirk. “Besides. I dunno, man, being queer is less nasty than fucking a woman as old as your mother—” he finishes, tapping the ashes off the end of his cigarette with a pointed look at Two-Bit.

It seems to break the tension a bit and Two-Bit, easy-going as he is, bursts into his easy laugher and Soda feels the first bit of warm relief and lets out the breath he’s holding.

“Shit man, you got me there, Dallas,” concedes Two-Bit. “I guess you might be right. And don’t worry none about it Soda—but try and control yourself around me, yeah? I now I’m a hunk and all but—”

“Aw lay off,” he whines. “Hate to break it to ya Two-Bit, but queers have standards too. You gotta be good-looking for a chance.”

“Hey,” complains Two-Bit, good naturedly flicking a card at his head, which he swats away easily.

“Besides,” says Soda. “I might be a bit fucked in the head but I can still beat your ass in a brawl.”

And that’s it, the two of them are on the floor wrestling, until Darry yells at them to both get up and take it to the front room because he’s trying to cook, goddammit. He helps Soda up with a small smile and even though he doesn’t say anything, Soda can tell he doesn’t care, that he loves him no matter what, and that’s all that matters to him really.

Ponyboy still looks a little shell-shocked, probably because he’s surprised Soda didn’t tell him, but he grins and shrugs and Johnny shrugs nonchalantly.

They all turn to Steve, who for once, still hasn’t said anything. He’s still rooted in place, with that shocked expression on his face. And Soda can’t do anything but hold his breath and stare at his best-friend-since-grade-school imploringly and hoping against hope. Because sure he’s got the rest of the gang, but it’s Steve, and Soda doesn’t think anything will ever be the same without Steve’s humour, Steve’s spirit.

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, Steve eases his jaw and says, “Yeah. I mean. Isn’t it unnatural?”

Soda swallows and looks down, shrugs. Doesn’t say another word. Because maybe it is, whatever, but he can’t help it any more than Steve can help getting half-hard without fail when Evie so much as kisses his cheek.

And maybe, at the sight of his best friend so vulnerable, Steve finally eases up and says, “It’s fine, I guess. You don’t act like most of them queers,” and then, when Soda finally looks up to meet his eye, he shifts uncomfortably again and tries, “It’s fine, Soda. Honest. I’m not gonna treat you any different, even if I do have to get used to it.”

Then, he steps forwards and takes Soda into a hug, and Soda finally sighs and relaxes into it because it’s fine, they don’t mind he’s queer, they’ve accepted it and even if they’re gonna have to get used to the idea, they will, at some point. He knows it. And the thought brings such heady relief that he almost cries.

Later, when they’re alone and Dally’s hands are on his waist and his mouth on his neck, Dally whispers to him that what he did was the bravest thing he’s ever seen.


	6. Venus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *all the shit in italics = Mazzy Star lyrics from the song _She's My Baby ___

_\----_

_Everybody else_   
_Looks at my baby_   
_Then they wander over to me_

_\----_

He’s just snaked a hand down Soda’s pants and he’s just let out a harsh gasp when there’s a banging on the wall and a yell.

“Keep it _down,_ ” comes Darry’s voice. “Sodapop, I swear, if I have to hear you moaning like a broad one more fucking time, Dally’s not allowed in this house, d’ya hear me?”

“But Darry,” he whines.

“No ifs or buts! Get your asses out of there right now. Ponyboy’s home, and there will be absolutely no funny business.”

Dally laughs at the delightful red colour Soda turns when he smacks him in the ass as they leave the room, and come face to face with a stern-faced Darry. Darry’s terrifying when he’s angry (not that he’ll ever admit it), but Dally can see a twinkle of amusement in the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. He’s kind of surprised Darry hasn’t skinned him for banging his kid brother yet but maybe Darry’s seen the way he looks at Soda, even if Soda hasn’t noticed it yet.

“Soda, kid, just because we know you’re going with Dally now, doesn’t mean we all need to hear it.”

Soda rolls his eyes and smirks as he saunters off into the kitchen to grab the cake out the fridge.

Darry blanches. “Put that down and wash your hands.”

“Calm down, I didn’t touch his junk. You interrupted us before—”

“Soda? You shut the fuck up,” groans Darry, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you ever sleep with Sandy in this house?”

“No,” he admits.

“Well then why in the shit d’ya think it’s alright to get nailed by Dally when there are other people home?”

Dally smirks and tips his chair back on two legs, while Soda flounders and tries to come up with an answer. “Actually,” he cuts in smoothly. “It’s usually the other way around.”

The effect is instantaneous. Darry chokes violently on his coffee and Ponyboy goes a furious red, and Soda nearly falls off his chair laughing. Dally lets himself have a small smile—he’s definitely going soft because there’s no way in hell he would have admitted that before.

\----

The lights in the Dingo are low as usual, and it smells stale, like beer and sweat. There’s a baseball game on in the corner but as usual, nobody’s paying much attention to it and it’s drowned out by loud music and hollers.

Two-Bit and Steve are yelling something about third wheeling, even as Soda’s insisting this isn’t a date because Dally’s way more classy than the fucking _Dingo,_ which is true, but only because they’d get skinned alive if anyone apart from the gang so much as suspected. It’s hard all the time, makes Dally’s skin jump on edge all the time, and not in the good way—there’s too much at stake now, because it’s Soda that could get hurt too, not just Dally.

Two-Bit drunkenly bad-mouths one of the Brumley boys and Soda and Steve have to drag him out before they start a brawl, because if the cops come they’ll all be in for it. Soda’s just gone 19, not yet old enough to legally drink. Hell, Two-Bit is the only one who can—and even if they’re probably all up to run from the cops, Darry will sure as hell shout them down.

The streets are dark and Soda’s got a bright glint in his eyes as he does a handstand under the luminous glow of a neon light outside the Dingo. Steve shoves his legs over and he goes toppling to the ground, cursing all the way—Steve and Two-Bit laugh hysterically while Dally rushes forwards, scowling.

“Look at him, turning into Soda’s mama. Almost as bad as Darry,” chortles Two-Bit, dodging a hit and sloshing beer on the sidewalk as he goes.

Dally can’t even bring himself to tackle Two-Bit to the ground, because he’s too busy focussing on the way Soda’s hand lingers in his when he helps him to his feet. He’s so far gone for Soda it’s ridiculous—he’s never felt the rush of whatever it is before, thrumming through his veins and seeping over so far it almost hurts sometimes.

They dodge a fight around the corner and Dally smokes a cigarette while Two-Bit tries (and fails) to pick up a broad, until they spot Tim Shepherd’s car parked outside the newsagents.

Even though it’s Dally’s idea to lift the hubcaps, he’s not even paying attention because Soda’s shirt hikes up a little when he shoves Steve out the way to get his hands on the wheel. His hair is gently curled on the nape of his neck and stuck to his skin with sweat, which gleams in the orange light. He’s got that smile on again, the one that looks wild and free and makes Dally want to grab his hand and run into whatever they’re facing head-first.

They’ve been going steady for almost two years now, transitioning from something convenient, a companionable fuck, to something secret and beautiful in Dally’s heart, something that’s rushed and special and eternal—something that whispers _yours and mine_ in the dark, so tangled together that they’re not sure where the other begins. It’s theirs and theirs alone, and a rush of possession hits him because even if the world might never know, Soda is _his_ and his alone, and he’s been Soda’s forever. He believes anything is possible when Soda smiles like that.

And it hits him then, and maybe he’s known it for a very long time, but that rush of feeling hits him again, so hard he almost chokes up. It’s scary, but he doesn’t shy away. He’s no pussy. If Soda always stands straight, then so will Dally.

“Soda,” he murmurs, low enough that Two-Bit and Steve, who are struggling with the second hubcap, can’t hear it. “Soda, I think I might love you.”

There’s a crash when Soda drops the hubcap.

And suddenly, Tim Shepherd’s burst out of the store and is cursing them to hell and they’re running down the street, cursing Soda for his clumsiness, laughter coming wild, like maniacs.

“Hey, Dals.”

They pause just outside the Curtis house, just behind the porch, in the dark and away from prying eyes. Two-Bit and Steve have gone home already, but Dally’s walked his fella home—it’s only polite, after all.

The night air is cool on his skin, while Soda’s palm on his wrist is warm and tingly, and the side of the house digs into Dally’s back, grounding him even though Soda’s fingers on his cheek are soft and make him want to fly, even after all this time.

“I love you too.”

“Oh.”

And then Soda gives him a quick kiss, infinite in what it means, and disappears inside.

He’s left sitting on the porch outside, too dizzy to make his way home, feeling so light that he could fly away and never look back. Gently, he runs a shaking finger over his lips and wonders how the hell they got this far. He wouldn’t change it for the world, and not even thinking about hiding it can drag him down any longer.


	7. Here With Me

_\----_

_She's my baby  
She belongs to me_

_\----_

There are memories littered throughout the little old book, battered with years of thumbing through it. It’s secret and beautiful, but recently, Soda’s been sharing them with the world a little more.

Dally’s favourite picture is framed on the mantelpiece now. It’s them, a long time ago—to this day, Darry’s little girl refuses to believe that Uncle Soda was ever that good-looking, which is bullshit, because even though there are laugh lines worn into the sides of his eyes and his hair is thinner than it was, he’s still as beautiful as he was all those years ago, back when Dally used to spend quiet days just watching. 

There’s Dally in the photo, and he hasn’t got his _mean face_ on, the one that Soda used to tease him about and Dally would let him (only him) because Soda was Soda, after all. It’s at a riot that Darry specifically forbade them to go to, but Dally’s laughing at the camera, bold as ever—Soda’s next to him with that ridiculous ear-splitting grin, radiant in his youth. And the best part about the picture is that it was taken just minutes before cops showed up and they both got hauled into the police station.

To this day, Darry scolds them for ever taking their masks off even though it was meant to be a peaceful protest.

He places the photo down with only a slight tremor in his hands. Things are different now. Hell, _he’s_ different, so different to the scowling boy, made cruel by the world, spending more time locked up than not. Of all the ways he expected his life to turn out, having a normal job and living with Soda Curtis was something he’d have laughed at before—everyone thought he was past living a normal life. He sure as heck did.

But somehow, Soda’s stuck with him all this time and he’s not a hood, hasn’t been for a while, won’t die a hood, and they’ve got their own house and he hasn’t nicked anything from the store in at least a couple decades. Ponyboy cusses him out for being an ‘old man on a motorcycle’, so Dally cusses him out for being an unmarried _college professor_ who’s nearing his fifties, but hell, they’ve made it against all odds, they all have.

Two-Bit is a grandad now, still living in the little town they grew up in. He’s doing pretty well for himself. Steve still visits every month or so, to catch a ball game—him and Soda are still tight as anything. Johnny’s still a mechanic and his girl is lovely as anything and Dally stopped having to beat socs up for him a long, long time ago, although he still has to suppress the urge to sock every rich geezer with a BMW and a sneer.

“Hey, Dals.”

Warm arms snake around his waist and someone grinds their bony chin into his shoulder.

“You seen the paper this morning?” he asks Soda, in way of greeting.

“Nah.”

With shaky hands, Dallas tosses it to him and leans back to watch. It takes a while, because Soda’s never been too good at reading, but he gets there. And when he does, he throws it to the floor and dances around the kitchen with a laugh, seizing Dallas’ hands, young and vibrant and just as full of life as he was when he used to pump gas at the DX all those years ago.

It’s taken a while, but they’ve got there in the end.

_\---- Homosexuality was decriminalised in Oklahoma (and the remaining US states) in 2003 ----_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there's still homophobes in 2020 smh 
> 
> hope you liked this little thing i did when i got bored, kudos always appreciated   
> thanks for reading  
> Jx


End file.
